Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. “In private. In the beginning it was a dictionary. Come with me to the Condemned Hold directly, and, if I find my fears confirmed, I'll—" He was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of the black, who rushed precipitately into the room, letting fall the heavy bunch of keys in his fright. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. And that happens through our maternity; it’s our very importance that degrades us. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack.
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